“I didn’t want to,” I admit.

“I know,” she says, and smiles sadly. “So who are these New York kindred Theodore sent with you?”

“Well, Faust is a newbie, and one of the nicest guys I ever met,” I respond. “And Ava scares the crap out of me and, for some reason that completely eludes me, hates my guts. But Gold wanted me to accompany her here so she could quiz Gaspard and Bran, and I’m sure you and Vincent as well, about what to do about the numa in New York.”

“Is she Gold’s second?” Kate asks curiously.

“They don’t have firsts and seconds there. Or at least, not on paper, although it’s pretty clear to me that Gold’s in charge. She’s his special envoy, in any case.”

Kate looks thoughtful. “Why does she hate you? Did you hit on her?”

“Absolute negative on that. It was apparently loathing at first sight,” I say.

Kate grabs my hands, and we lean back, using each other’s weight to stand up, both cracking a smile at the effort it takes to get off the ground.

“Dinner?” she asks.

“A meal in the presence of France’s brave Champion?” I say. “How can I resist?”

Kate smiles and puts her arm around me, resting her head on my shoulder as we walk together toward the door.

NINE

DINNER IN THE KITCHEN—IT’S JUST LIKE OLD times. Jeanne bustles between the stove and table, bringing course after delicious course, and Ambrose inhales everything like an industrial-size vacuum cleaner. Charlotte sits next to him, so close that her body is practically fused to his, chatting away in English to Ava, who has proven once again to be the star of the show. In less than an hour, she’s got everyone at La Maison wrapped around her finger.

Gaspard and Jean-Baptiste always took their meals upstairs, but now that his partner is gone, Gaspard seems to have decided to join the rest of the group. He looks distinctly awkward, struggling to understand Faust’s strong New York accent as he quizzes the young bardia about New York’s kindred. There is a sadness about Gaspard that is hard to watch. He’s lost weight, and his hyper quirkiness has mellowed with his grief. But since he is here, eating with the rest of the house, it means he is trying. He’s making an effort to carry on. I can’t imagine losing someone you’ve loved for over a century and a half. Up until recently, I couldn’t even imagine loving someone at all.

At Gaspard’s side, Kate is radiant inside this warm circle of conversation and companionship. She belongs here—it is evident. My eyes sweep the table and meet Ava’s. She glances back and forth between me and Kate, and I can see her catching on, and suddenly I’m choking on the chicken I was trying to swallow. Ava gets this amused look and turns back to her conversation with Charlotte.

Ambrose pats me on the back. “You got to chew, dude.”

“You’re one to talk—human shovel,” I reply, taking a quick sip of water.

“Need the calories. Wedding prep is taking more out of me than fighting numa ever did,” he says. Charlotte nudges him, and then gives him a kiss on the cheek. Kate sees it and takes Vincent’s hand under the table. Love is freaking everywhere. I clear my throat.

“So, Gaspard, when is Bran coming?” I ask in English, so that our guests can follow along. “Gold specifically wanted Ava to meet with him.”

“Ah, you see, there’s a bit of a problem with that,” Gaspard replies. “The mother of Bran’s sons is indisposed. I believe she is in the hospital—nothing too serious, fortunately. But Bran must care for his children and won’t be coming to the wedding.”

“Then we have to go to him!” Ava blurts out.

Gaspard places his hand on hers. “That is the plan, my dear. Bran has invited you to visit him in Brittany this weekend.”

“How do I get there?” she asks. This change in plans seems to set her on edge: She’s squeezing her fork so tightly that her knuckles are white.

“The easiest way is by car. I would be happy to accompany you, but with all the wedding preparations, I’m afraid—”

“I’ll take her,” I say, cutting Gaspard off. Ava stares at me in surprise. “Gold wanted me to be your French tour guide,” I explain, even though that’s not really the reason. I’m not really sure why I’m offering—it has something to do with her panic and the feeling that I need to do something to help.

“Yes, of course, that would be best,” Gaspard says.

“Faust can be our third,” Ava adds quickly.

“No can do,” Faust says. “I’ll be sleeping the sleep of the dead.”

“You’re dormant this weekend?” Ava asks, accusation in her tone.

“Hey, I was awake to accompany you on the plane,” Faust says with a shrug, “and I’ll be awake again for the wedding and the trip home. You can find another third for the trip to Brittany, right?”

“Don’t worry about your safety getting there and back,” Vincent reassures Ava. “Numa activity is at a record low in France—you won’t need a third.”

“Thanks to Kate’s super-Champion-numa vision,” interjects Ambrose.

Kate responds by blowing cockily on her fingernails, and then grins as Ambrose laughs.

“How far is Bran’s house?” Ava asks, looking distinctly uneasy.

“Paris to Carnac is about five hundred kilometers,” Gaspard responds. Ava gives him a blank stare.

“Americans don’t think in kilometers,” Ambrose explains. “That’s a four-and-a-half-hour drive.”

Ava gives me a pained look, and I’m sure my face is a mirror image. A six-hour plane trip was bad enough with Faust serving as a buffer. Now we have to drive four and a half hours in a car. Alone.

TEN

THE NEXT FOUR DAYS ARE A BLUR OF ACTIVITY. Once it’s decided that Ava and I will leave for Brittany on Saturday, she practically disappears. Kate and Charlotte enlist her help with the wedding preparations and, on their breaks, take her to see the sights of Paris. On one of the rare occasions that our paths cross, I ask how her research for Gold is going.

“I have to start with Bran,” she claims, and that’s the end of that.

I spend the time catching up with my kindred over meals, sparring in the armory, and walking the Paris streets. In a way, it’s like nothing ever happened, but my return to New York lurks, ever-present, in the back of my mind.